A few minutes later, Silas appeared, out of breath and irritated. “What in God’s name did you say to them?” He leaned on the doorframe and panted. “I was nearly knifed for moving too slowly!”
“Oh good. You’re here. I’ve a job for you. Do you know how to use this?” Rachel ignored his question and shoved the telegraph machine into his hands.
Silas nodded, dumbfounded.
“I need this hooked up and I needed it done yesterday. When it’s finished,” she tucked a piece of paper into his breast pocket, “broadcast that.”
“Why can’t someone el—”
“No time for chit chat.” She pushed passed him and headed down the stairs. “There’s ammunition to prepare and you’ve a job to do.” He grumbled something as she left, and although she couldn’t make out the words, she was certain he was displeased at her hasty departure.
The warning shots were dangerously close, and what started out as one ship, was now five. The last blast knocked Rachel into the doorframe as she entered the pilothouse. “Any reply?” she asked Silas over her shoulder.
He shook his head. “Nothing yet, but for all I know, the only ships receiving the transmission are the ones we’re trying to avoid.”
Another blast shook them.
“Keep transmitting,” she instructed him. “And hold on to something. I have an idea.”
She slammed her hand against a button and an alarm sounded throughout the ship. The captain and first mate began a furious dance of pulling levers and opening valves. With a lurch, the Antigone’s Wrath burst into full speed. Daring an upward glance out the front windows, he saw a giant bank of clouds looming ahead. They were headed directly into the mass.
Before he could form a coherent argument against entering what was sure to be a storm cloud, the ship was within it and surrounded by dense moisture. Silas clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, hoping it was all a dream. The telegraph machine jumped to life and let out a steady stream of long and short clicks. Shocked at the development, it took him a moment to grab a piece of chalk and write out the message on the small tabletop.
When the phrase was complete, Silas stared at it, perplexed. “You have a reply, Captain Sterling, and it’s as obscure as the message you had me send out.”
“Any time you’re ready, Mr. Jensen,” she replied, pushing down on the steering yoke. “Afraid I’m a bit too busy to come and read it.”
“It says,” he paused, both waiting for his stomach to settle from the sudden drop and still unsure of the transcription, “are the dreams safe?”
Rachel gave an excited whoop, startling him further. “Mr. Jensen! Send back: ‘yes, with a nightmare at its heels.’ Iris! Under my chair! Have them run up that banner before we break through the clouds!”
The first mate abandoned her post at a gauge and did as she was ordered. Iris flew down the stairs and handed the folded cloth to a deck hand at the main mast. Giving his line to the man next to him, he tucked the banner into his belt and scampered up the rope ladder to the crow’s nest above the inflatables. By the time Iris returned, the banner was attached and well on its way to the top of the main mast. Silas marveled at the impossible quickness of the crewman.
The light brightened and he realized they were nearly free of the clouds. His breath caught in his throat as they passed through the final layer of fog.
“Oh my,” Iris whispered as they saw what was waiting for them on the other side.
A raggedy fleet of twenty ships hovered before them, all flying the same green banner. The telegraph machine sprang to life once more. “The dreams will reach the final destination under the watchful eye of the dragon,” Silas announced after the clicking stopped. “Upwards and onwards.”
Rachel pulled back on the yoke and they sailed above the waiting army. As they cleared the top of the uppermost vessel, cannons fired. Rachel leveled out as Silas ran to the door to look behind them. The ATA ships that chased them through the clouds were nearly running into each other as they emerged from the fog. The lead ship was trying to pull up and turn around simultaneously, and it bucked wildly in the sky, fighting the opposing forces.
“Full speed ahead to Singapore!” Rachel called out as she guided the ship due east.
He stared at the pile of parts, wondering if he made the right decision. Building weapons was not something he was accustomed to. In fact, he generally detested the idea. He was ashamed to admit it, but his motivation for building this particle cannon was mostly to impress Rachel. It was an irritatingly juvenile ploy, but he simply couldn’t help himself.
Truth be told, Silas wasn’t at all sure he could accomplish the task. His few attempts years earlier resulted in charred hands and a severe lack of eyebrows. He was certain the secret lay in the power supply though. It was the only component remaining to perfect. Considering this, he decided it was better to build that first and worry about the delivery mechanism last, especially since Rachel forbade him to touch the harpooner until the last possible moment.
The power supply presented a problem. He needed a way to generate electricity so the weapon wouldn’t drain the ship’s system. It was this dilemma that kept him up all night, pacing the floor of this makeshift workshop and wandering the passageways. How did other inventors resolve these issues? How did…
He stopped mid-thought. Other inventors. Exactly like in the cemetery in La Rochelle. The same place he saw that coiled generator in the birdcage. If he could figure a way to loop some of the power back into the coil once it was started, he could generate a near to infinite amount of electricity.
His brain burst into activity. The ideas came so quickly, so furiously, he scarcely had time to write or sketch it on paper before the next one demanded his attention. A series of couplers, regulators, wiring, adjusters, and conductors soon became a generator and storage system. With passionate determination, he filled page after page with equations; calculating the feedback rate, computing the parameters for number of cycles per second, adjusting for inevitable losses during energy transference, and hundreds of other tiny problems that he solved, one after the next. Silas Jensen was a man possessed. It was only the mess call that broke his feverish quantifications.
He stopped. It was not the breakfast bell that chimed, but the midday pattern. Could that be right? Had he worked for nearly twenty-four hours without food? His stomach answered with a loud growl. Regarding his scattered scrawlings piled up in various states of organization, he decided it was time for a break. He took one scrap of paper with him, a list of items written on it, in case he came across anything he might find useful on the way.
After a hastily devoured meal, Silas went in search of his apprentice. He would need his help in the assembly process, and in gathering the necessary materials. A passing crewman told him Eddie was on the upper deck, shadowing the aft watch, to which he added a repressed snicker.
On his way up, Silas passed the captain’s quarters. The voices coming from within were not ones he recognized.
Rachel sounded irritated. “Gentlemen, the terms of transport were clear. Due to the current situation in the area, I cannot guarantee arrival time.”
“Si. We know this, Capitaine, but you must understand our point of view. Your ship may be well-suited to carrying dry goods, but the lack of humidity in the hold may affect the product’s potency,” a man said with a strange, exotic accent. Perhaps he was from one of the Spanish colonies in the Americas.
“And if I do as you suggest and introduce steam into the hold, it will spoil everything else in there. How would you suggest I feed the crew when the food rots? Besides which, I have no idea of the route we’re taking to Singapore. Our guardian ships are guiding us around any possible blockades. There’s no way for me to determine how long the hold would have to stay damp. I simply can’t risk it.”
The discussion continued, but Silas grew disinterested. His project beckoned to him; he needed to find Eddie.
Above deck, there wasn’t much activity. The watchmen milled abo
ut, yawning occasionally, and a small group played a cup and dice game near the center mast. Silas barely took note of all this as he made his way around to the back side of the pilothouse. There was Eddie, but something was very different. He was still, raptly listening to an older man recounting a story from his younger days on the high seas. Silas had never seen Eddie behave that way. There was no constant barrage of questions, no need for a million explanations. The boy sat, transfixed. At last, here was the perfect match for Eddie: someone who talked more than he did.
Silas was about to remark on this turn of events when a loud blaring noise jarred him.
“Incoming vessel!” a voice shouted from the forward end of the ship. The alarm sounded again, and the crew scrambled about, readying for an attack, should one come.
Turning and looking around the side of the pilothouse, Silas rubbed his eyes as he looked at the ship that drew up alongside the Antigone’s Wrath. It was the same as the one he saw during the attack off the coast of Cameroon, but with a single difference: the one that approached was airborne.
A single, massive inflatable shadowed the swooping roof of the vessel, and it looked awkward hanging in mid-air. It displayed none of the grace of the Antigone’s Wrath, clearly a converted number, and not originally intended for flight.
Rachel burst out from the interior of the ship, blocking Silas’s view. She pulled her hat down over her ears in an effort to keep it on her head in the wind. She muttered as she placed her balled fists on her hips and watched the approach. The remainder of her hair blew around her like a cape. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch the chocolate strands. Likely it would only bring pain. He grinned. Probably not the good kind either.
Iris slid up to the captain as the airship neared. “Your orders?” she whispered.
“Stay at the ready,” she said quietly. “Don’t engage them. These are Yong Wu’s men, and business is business.”
“Aye, Captain. I’ll pass the word.” Iris slipped away.
Rachel watched through narrowed eyes as crewmen from the bulky ship tethered the vessels together. There was nothing good about this whole situation, aside from it being their free pass to the region. Yong Wu might not like her, but he did keep his word when it came to business deals. Generally. However, nothing that happened in the last week was anything resembling general or typical. Was there no respite from this tension?
A temporary ladder bridge was secured across the expanse between the ships and a tall man with skin dark as pitch crossed it in two steps. He swung his legs over the railing, landing with a thud on the deck in front of Rachel. She raised an eyebrow and waited for him to speak.
He stood, straightened his floppy red hat, and stared at her, sizing her up. “You are Captain Sterling, yes?” His heavily accented voice conjured visions of the jungle and his eyes held a wild sparkle. The dark man towered over her by at least a foot.
She didn’t bat an eye. “I am. Who are you? And can you explain this?” Rachel motioned to the tethered ship with one hand, not breaking visual contact.
He grinned, his ivory teeth gleaming brightly, and bowed with a flourish of his hat. “Captain Henri Owusu. I am one of your escorts on this journey. As for that…” He hooked a thumb in the direction of his ship. “You would like to know the route and possible detours, yes?”
“Is there a problem with using the telegraph?” She crossed her arms.
Seemingly unmoved by her tone, he flashed another smile. “Those messages can be intercepted. Unless another encounter with the Air Transport Authority is what you wish?”
“Point conceded.” She nodded. “If you wish to speak with me, however, I must ask that you leave your weapons here.”
He laughed. “I assure you, Captain Sterling, I have no intention of attempting to harm someone of your reputation, but I will do as you ask.” He tossed a long dagger and a pistol to the deck.
Rachel cast a look at a nearby crewman who gathered up the weapons and stood aside.
“Please, follow me.” She turned on her heel and headed down to her quarters, Captain Owusu in tow, and Iris trailing quietly behind.
He didn’t give her any reason for suspicion, but that was enough for her to be on edge. He was too easy-going; the man actually hummed to himself as they walked. There was a distinct spring in his step as well. No one who worked for Yong Wu was that jovial. No one.
They reached her rooms without incident. She indicated he should have a seat, which he did, slinging his left leg over the arm of the guest chair. She gave him an obvious look of displeasure, but said nothing of the rude behavior, opting instead to unroll charts on her desktop. “Captain… Owasu, was it?”
“Oh-WU-su,” he corrected, still smiling.
She placed her hands on either side of the large map and narrowed her eyes. “Tell me something, Captain Owusu…”
“What would you like to know?”
His ever-present Cheshire grin grated her nerves. A muscle under her eye twitched. “How is it that someone of your nature is under the employ of Yong Wu?”
He laughed heartily. “Now that is a long story. Let me sum up. My Haiti is not a welcoming place right now, and, with the embargo, there is not much left to one in my profession. When a man asks if you would like a job, what else is there to say? I took the job.”
“Hm,” she mused. “It seems Yong Wu’s plans extend beyond his normal reach.” A smile tickled the corners of her mouth. “I was rather curious how he accomplished such a wide perimeter around Singapore.” Although she would never fully trust anyone who worked for Yong Wu, it was a small comfort to know the man in front of her would not normally be in his employ. She relaxed slightly, but only slightly. There was no way to know what he was being paid to do. A mercenary was a mercenary. Still, she couldn’t help seeing a kindred spirit in him. His profession wasn’t all that different from her own. In fact, were she not of the female persuasion, it was likely Yong Wu would have recruited her as well. Rachel cleared her head and redirected the conversation. “So you were saying, about the route?”
The dream came again that night, and Iris awoke in a cold sweat, her heart thudding in her chest. She left her room, seeking to rid herself of its memory. With her cloak pulled tightly around her, she wandered past the watchmen milling about on the top deck. They alternated port, starboard, forward, and aft watches, while another man looked out from the crow’s nest. The speed of the ship was not excessive, but the wind lifted the curls from her shoulders and they danced behind her as she shuffled her slippered feet to a pile of line and canvas near the bow. She sat there, curling her legs under her, and laid her crossed arms on the railing. Iris rested her chin and looked out into the black expanse of the sky, the stars painting patterns in clusters.
“You couldn’t sleep?” Danton’s voice behind her made her jump.
She lifted her head and turned slightly to look at him. “My dreams unsettle me sometimes. The quiet of the darkness gives me peace.”
He nodded, produced a blanket from behind his back, and gently wrapped it around her. “Then I shall leave you to it,” he whispered in her ear.
Her cheeks flushed. He turned to leave, but she called out to him, “Danton, I…”
“Oui?”
Iris reconsidered what she thought to say, and pulled the fabric closer around her. “Thank you.”
Danton nodded, but said nothing more as he resumed his post at the aft of the ship. Returning her gaze to the stars, she wondered if she could tell him about her hidden fears, about the dreams. Perhaps he would understand these visions better than she. As quickly as the idea came, she dismissed it. There was one who might be able to help her, but there were still more nights between now and when she could see him.
“Jamyang will know what to do,” she murmured softly as the ship sailed on.
Using the route Captain Owusu provided, the remainder of the journey passed quickly. Now, Rachel stared, grim-faced, at the troop of men waiting for them at the dock. The muscles in her
jaw hurt from being clenched so tightly for so long; they had been set this way for over an hour before Singapore was in sight. A headache was most certainly in her very immediate future. She was counting on Yong Wu’s sense of contractual obligation to see them safely out of the area. The contingency plan was practically nonexistent: keep the engines running and weapons handy. More than once she had to fight the urge to throw the ship into reverse and be done with the whole mess, but she knew, in the end, that would cause more problems than it solved.
Five hours outside of port, the Antigone’s Wrath made a water landing, as per Yong Wu’s instructions. They were tailed in the air until a small fleet of vessels took up the charge, seeing them safely to their destination.
Lines were flung to men waiting on the pier. With a heavy sigh, Rachel exited the pilothouse and descended the stairs to the deck below. She gave a final visual sweep of the area, ensuring that Silas and Eddie were nowhere to be seen. She had instructed the inventor and his apprentice to stay below deck at all times, as she didn’t want them seen by anyone lest there be a spy waiting on the pier to catch a glimpse of them. Silas solemnly agreed, taking a protesting Eddie to the makeshift workshop where they would continue building the particle cannon. The work was meant to be a balm to Eddie’s aggravation at being told to make himself scarce; that boy was a gearhead to the core if ever there was one.
The thought brought a momentary softening to her strained countenance, but it didn’t last long. A sturdy set of stairs was brought alongside the ship. A group of men stood at the bottom, faces mostly unreadable, but unquestionably impatient. All six of them were bald, save one, whose thick queue flowed from the very top of his head to the middle of his back. They wore black cotton gi, with a green silk belt tied at the waist and gold Chinese characters embroidered on the cuffs. They could be none other than Yong Wu’s lackeys.
Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) Page 15